Surprises
by Isailaway
Summary: It's hot but Richard isn't complaining. So where is he?
1. Chapter 1

**This fic was born from a discussion about favourite adverts...because of which, Million Moments may have an inkling what is coming. It is AU and implausible but I hope you like it anyway. It is set sometime after series 2 but in this Camille is definitely still in denial.**

**Characters are not mine, but any mistakes are! Please review. :-)**

**Chapter 1: Heat**

It was hot.

Blisteringly hot.

The kind of heat that had the tarmac steaming and caused all but the hardiest of sun worshippers to slip off for a lie down in an air-conditioned room.

The kind of heat that would cause pale, pedantic Englishmen to pray volubly for drizzle and a cold biting wind.

Well, normally.

Camille sighed and swept her slightly damp, abundant curls across an almost bare shoulder, batting ineffectually towards her neck with her hands to cool herself. Looking across to the empty desk in front of her she wondered at what point in time her brain had made the switch from wanting to slowly throttle the man who usually sat behind it, thereby silencing the grunts of dissatisfaction that constantly emerged, to the odd feelings of missing the moaning that she was currently experiencing. After two years of his daily grumbles, the office was far far too quiet.

A creaking chair, followed by a soft snore from the opposite corner of the office drew her attention and she scrunched up a loose piece of paper, aiming and accurately throwing it at her colleague. It hit him squarely on the jaw startling him awake.

"What? Where? ...Oh. Sorry Camille" Dwayne grinned his apology, dropping his feet off his desk and sitting up.

"Well it's not much fun sitting here with only your feet to talk to." She replied good-naturedly.

"Where's Fidel?"

"I sent him home. Rosie isn't coping that well in the heat and with Juliet so heavily pregnant….."

Dwayne nodded. "And the Chief?"

Camille frowned, glancing back at the empty desk and listening to the whirr of the ceiling fan until Dwayne's amused chuckle guided her attention back to him. He was observing her shrewdly.

"I don't know."

….

Time moved ponderously through the afternoon. The heat of the day lay over the station in a thick blanket, and work was not absorbing her.

Fidel had phoned to say he wouldn't be back in that day and Dwayne had gone to talk to passing tourists on the beachfront. They were hoping to find some witnesses to a crime committed two weeks earlier. Posing as healthcare officials doing research into sun cream application, a group of twenty something year olds dressed in smart attire had managed to lift four iPods, five smart phones and a couple of kindles from unsuspecting sunbathers. With little to go on and victims dwindling as they finished their holidays and returned to homes around the world it was unlikely that anyone would be caught unless it happened again. Dwayne's attempt to gather more evidence was a long shot and it was more likely to be the chance of an ocean breeze on his face that had drawn him down there.

Camille had had enough. Mutinously throwing her pen somewhere in the region of her desk, she collected her bag and stalked out of the station. If Richard couldn't be bothered to turn up to work this afternoon, or the previous few, then she'd be dammed if she was going to sit there waiting for him like a schoolgirl.

What was she trying to prove anyway? And why was she so bothered about the absence of his voice when it would have only been heard grousing. The nagging thought tugged at her but she brushed it aside, heading for La Kaz.

...

"Ma Cherie." Catherine's greeting came with a broad smile as she finished delivering bottled beers to a nearby table. She quietly observed her daughter, who was still stood in the doorway, scanning the room with a practiced eye and a growing crease in her forehead and shook her head indulgently. Ah the poor girl. Why the Gods had seen fit to grant her this fate she would never know.

"Can I get you a drink darling?"

"Erm, yes. Yes please Maman." Camille answered distractedly. "Where is Richard?"

"I don't know. I haven't seen him today," Catherine answered carefully, thinking back.

"In fact it's quite a few weeks since he was last here. It's quite odd, knowing how much he loves his tea." She hesitated in her movement back towards the bar then thought better of saying more. "I'll get you a beer."

Camille lowered herself into a chair, thinking through all the likely places Richard might be, and then some of the more unlikely ones. Her mother was half way back across the restaurant, beer on tray when the younger woman pushed the seat back violently, leaping to her feet.

"I think I know where he is," she cried urgently and then was gone.

Catherine sighed and took a sip of the now unwanted drink. She picked up the abandoned shoulder bag and tidied the hastily left chair, questioning when it would be that her beautiful child would wake up to her feelings for her Senior Officer, and what would happen when she did.


	2. Chapter 2: Chasing

**Thanks so much everyone for your ****reviews. I am afraid I heartlessly responded to them and made sure I didn't give too much more away in ch2!**

**The new character Tiny is all mine. :-)**

**Ch2: Chasing**

Driving fast across the Island, Camille tried to gather her thoughts. The first was that she probably owed her mother an apology; the second being that she hoped her bag, complete with police ID, phone and purse, was by now safely stored behind the bar and not in the hands of some opportunist.

She considered turning around and going back for it but decided that this; striking whilst the kettle was hot or whatever the phrase was that Richard liked to use, was more important.

This led to contemplating why locating her boss on a Thursday afternoon, when he was technically off duty but most likely contactable by phone, could possibly be considered as more important but brushed the notion away as she took a bend a little fast, tyres skidding.

Forty minutes later she pulled around site contractors and into the almost complete gravel car park. She paused to check herself in the small mirror behind the sun visor, angrily slamming it back up into the roof of the defender when she realised what she was doing, then got out and crossed to the large doors in front of her.

"Hey Camille."

A tall, dark skinned man called out as she pushed open the door and peered around it into the dark interior corridor. The contrast of the brightness outside made it difficult to see at first and Camille was working hard to put a name to the face and voice as he walked towards her.

"Tiny? Wow! Look at you! How are you?"

He grinned at her, pulling her forwards and into an enveloping hug, her feet lifting clean off the floor.

"Thought you were in Paris mate? Still trying to make the world a better place or have you given up chasing bad guys?" He asked, releasing her and allowing her to breathe again.

"I'll always be chasing the bad guys Tiny. But I'm back home and working in Honore now." Camille smiled and shrugged. "How about you? Last I heard you were off to travel the world and make your fortune."

The, it had to be acknowledged, handsome man smiled self-consciously. "Well I'd have said anything back at school to get your attention. Never really worked though did it."

Camille reached out and stroked his arm amicably; rapidly moving away from uncomfortable subjects such as her lack of desire to reciprocate the attention she had received from her high school peer group. Her smiling, flirty nature combined with her looks had meant there were many admirers but somehow they had never really pushed her buttons. She always seemed to fall for the oddballs or misfits.

"So what did you end up doing after school?"

"Bit of this and that. I did make it as far as New York, just didn't make any money is all. I've been in Mexico the last year or two but then this opportunity came up and I thought, why not?"

"And you're going to manage this place?"

"Yeah, pretty cool eh? Never thought anything like this would come to St Marie!"

Camille nodded her agreement, looking around her at the advertising posters decorating the walls. "And how long to opening?"

"Only a couple of weeks now." Tiny's smile slipped, apprehension tingeing his brows. "Do you think the locals will go for it?"

Camille toyed with a banal, reassuring reply then decided against it.

"I honestly don't know. We, I mean I came to one of the early planning meetings last year and it's a gamble. But they must have done their research, so….."

"Yeah, I guess." Tiny noticed her curiosity, her eyes flicking past him to the corridor stretching out behind them and his face brightened.

"Anyway, do you want a guided tour?"

"Yes please!" Camille agreed readily. If Richard were here, she wouldn't look so much like a stalker. She had simply met up with an old friend, a mere coincidence that they were here at the same time.

If he was here.

…..

"Evening Catherine." Dwayne sauntered into the bar, usual grin in place if slightly weary after the long, hot, unproductive day.

"Dwayne." Catherine acknowledged, automatically reaching for his favourite brand of beer.

"Quiet in here."

"I know." She looked around the room. A middle-aged couple, slightly beetroot in colour, was occupying one of the far tables and two late teens were scrutinising the jukebox. It had been much the same all day.

"I think the heat is putting people off doing much exploring. I'm sure it'll liven up later."

He nodded. "Has Camille been in?"

"Briefly." Catherine chuckled and Dwayne lifted an eyebrow questioningly, encouraging her to continue.

"She's off chasing Richard."

"Think she'll catch him?" Dwayne countered, knowing his question could be interpreted in more than one way.

Catherine shrugged, gesturing with her hands before placing them on the bar top that separated them, leaning forward.

"Do you know where he is?"

"I might." Dwayne grinned. "And your daughter might've figured it out too if they weren't so caught up doing this silly little dance around one another."

"She has seemed to be remarkably lax in using her detective skills when it comes to him," Catherine acknowledged.

"Do you know where he is?" Dwayne batted the question back to her.

"Not for definite, but I can make a good guess. If I'm right though, it's not yet open so who knows how he's talked his way in."

Dwayne laughed, then adopted an irritated expression, pulling out his Police Badge and slapping it onto the counter. "I am a Police Officer, I am hot and I demand to come in."

"And do you serve tea?" Catherine added, giggling.

Silence fell, the two sipping their drinks thoughtfully as they contemplated the eccentric Detective Inspector who had wormed his way into all of their lives.

"With Camille. Will it all end in tears?" Catherine asked, a few minutes later.

Dwayne scrunched his face up, considering. "He's not immune. I know that."

"I'd kill anyone who hurt my daughter."

"I'd help hide the body." The pair chinked bottles conspiratorially, sealing the deal.


	3. Chapter 3: Ice

**I love all of your expressed theories - both public and private. There are some great ideas for lots more fics in there!**

**Many many thankyous to those reviewed, they mean a lot to me. So here's the next bit...Million Moments said she wanted a fight...it might be building. ;-)**

**Chapter 3; Ice**

Camille followed Tiny as he walked her through the café and then into the changing area, trying to keep up with his excited chatter and hoping she was nodding and smiling in all the right places.

So far – no Richard.

Maybe she was wrong and her so called famous intuition had failed her. He could be in any number of places; it was silly to assume that just because it was hot, even for her, that Richard would have sought out and demanded entry into the coldest place on the island. It wasn't even open to anyone but contractors and the management yet; although that wouldn't have stopped him had he wanted to get in.

And how would he have got here? The island bus network was, well, relaxed was probably the word. The idea of Richard queuing for, and then travelling upon an over heated, over populated bus for almost an hour was enough to make her laugh out loud.

Almost.

If she didn't, for some inexplicable reason, feel slightly like crying.

"Camille?"

Tiny's voice made her blink and refocus. He stood by another set of double doors, the windows set into them still covered by protective blue plastic allowing no view through to the space beyond.

"Are you coming? You haven't seen the best bit yet!"

She smiled and inclined her head forwards. "Of course."

"Now it's not fully laid yet. We've got quite a few layers to spread but we wanted to paint advertisers names and suchlike on for the grand opening, and that has to be done at this stage so that it doesn't chip off."

Camille shivered, wrapping her arms around herself as she moved through the doors and past her friend. The temperature had plummeted more than twenty degrees and she was suddenly aware of how skimpy a top she was wearing.

"Sorry – should have tried to find you a coat or something." Tiny lifted his arm, offering her space against his body to huddle into. A familiar action she wouldn't have hesitated to accept once upon a time.

She declined with a small shake of the head. "Thanks, I'm ok. I lived in Paris remember!"

"So what do you think?"

"Wow!" She meant it.

The place was huge. A well lit ceiling a hundred feet above them cast pools of light onto a protective cage of shiny glass, surrounded by rows of tiered seating. Within the glass a brilliant white oval arena glinted, half decorated with elaborate lines of paint forming names of local businessmen, the tourist agency and bank.

Camille walked forward to get a better look, her exhaled breath fogging up the glass as she pressed her nose to it.

"Come round here, the barrier is lower at this side." Tiny guided her around to one side of the rink and she leant over to get a closer look at the pristine ice.

"Have you ever tried it?" He asked.

"Once, outdoors." She replied, an image of the French Capital at Christmastime six years ago, taking shape in her mind. "It was fun."

Tony smiled, letting her enjoy the memories. "I tried it in New York. Took some lessons hoping to impress a girl."

"Did it work?"

"Sort of," he grinned.

"So how much more ice do you spread?"

"Well I'm not an expert on how this is all put together but I am reliably told that it takes less than ten minutes to lay each new layer of ice, and that once it is finished it'll be about 6cm thick. Pretty cool eh?"

"4cm." A voice from behind corrected them. Camille started in surprise then shivered again, firmly stopping herself from looking round.

"Pardon?" Tiny asked, clearly unfazed by the new arrival.

"It will be 4cm at finished depth. If it's any thicker then the refrigeration system will be overtaxed. Any thinner and the skaters' blades will cut straight through."

"Ok." Tiny hesitated a second, pride dented at not knowing the facts, then relaxed and turned to introduce his guest. "Camille, this is Richard. He's from England originally and has been explaining all the science behind ice rinks to me. I guess there are plenty to choose from in that part of the world!"

"And why is he here?" Camille answered, not entirely politely given the circumstances.

"Erm, well. He was finding the heat a bit much and was in the area, … so he asked if he could find a quiet corner to do some paperwork whilst we got on with the snagging list. I know it's not strictly legit, but you won't say anything will you?"

"I am here. I can answer for myself you know," Richard groused.

"Sorry mate." Tiny apologized. "But she's Police. I know, and you've probably noticed by now that we're laid back on St Marie but I don't want to get into trouble in my first month on the job!"

"Indeed." The irony thickly cloaked his voice. Camille didn't need to see his face to tell her that as he greeted her. "Detective Sergeant."

She took a breath, before crossing her arms securely over her chest and turning slowly. Apart from feeling thoroughly disconcerted by his silent approach, she realised she was angry. Really angry.

How dare he.

How dare he sneak away from work without telling anyone – her - where he was going. And on more than one occasion, he had been doing this for well over a week now. How dare he lie to her friend, by omission at least, about who he was causing the gentle, kind man to worry about the safety of his job should anyone find out he had let a random stranger roam around the complex unrestricted. How dare he make her drive all the way across the Island after him. And how dare he be the reason she probably had a new Police ID to sort out in the morning, new locks to put on the door to her flat and credit cards to cancel before she was left bankrupt by some thief.

From the half step backward that Richard took as she turned to face him, she guessed her fury had hit home without the need to speak. His lips pursed and he crossed his arms, subconsciously mirroring her pose. She arched an eyebrow, and his shoulder twitched in response. Brown eyes held green firmly. Dimly she registered that it was unusual his gaze hadn't yet slipped away from hers, he was defiant rather than apologetic.

"Camille? Richard?" Tiny questioned confusedly, not understanding the undercurrents. "Do you two know one another?"

"Not really." "Sort of." They spoke together, Camille's flat denial contrasting with Richards more hesitant reply.

"Camille, what's going on?" Tiny tried again.

Camille snapped herself away from Richard, switching on a smile for her old friend. "I'm really very sorry Tiny. I have to go now, and I will be taking Richard back to Honore with me."

"What?" Richard exclaimed, eyebrows creasing together. He looked like he was about to say more but the taller man beside him interrupted in his placid, mildly concerned voice.

"Why? Is he a criminal or something?"

"What?" Richard exclaimed again, missing the muttered _I wish_ from Camille as an image formed in her mind of locking him in the rather humid and hot cells for the night.

She hesitated momentarily then replied to Tiny. "No, but we do need to talk to him about something. Thank you so much for the tour. Richard? Let's go."

She spun on her heels, dropping her arms and lifting her chin to start walking back towards the entrance. It had the unintended effect of highlighting her figure beneath the strappy top and she noticed both men's eyes drift away from her face. Tiny was relaxed and blatant in his regard in comparison to Richard whose brief glance caused a growing flush to colour his cheeks. She sighed. At least his embarrassment might mean he now followed without complaint.


	4. Chapter 4: Fury

**Ok – so I did warn you it would be AU. :D**

**However, having done some research I now know that there are ice rinks in really hot places, but more like Dubai than the Caribbean! Goodness knows what the cost is to cool the places down enough.**

**MEP –I know what you mean about wanting Richard to fight back. In the chapter I was going for the interaction we saw between them in ep2;5. Camille is so mean to him in the Land Rover and he just takes it. (I know she is grieving so I forgive her, and she apologises later) His bullied past coming out I guess.**

**Yes Katedf, Richard will definitely be back. I did like your earlier guess though. **

**I have sat and stared at this for a week and I don't think it's getting any better - sorry if it's not great folks.**

* * *

"Get in."

"Camille, I don't think….."

She glared across the roof of the Defender and he closed his mouth and climbed in, closing the door carefully behind him.

Barely giving him chance to fasten his seatbelt, Camille slammed the Land Rover into gear and screeched out of the car park. Richard acknowledged the startled expressions of the men finishing off their days work on the graveled area with a polite wave and half smile, half grimace, and then grabbed the door handle and held on for dear life.

After ten minutes of stomach churning twists and turns, bumps and grinds, aggressive accelerations and sudden braking as Camille careered along the narrow island road with seemingly little regard for her, or anyone else's safety, Richard had had enough.

"Pull over Camille."

She gave no indication of having heard him.

"Please will you stop the car before you kill us." He raised his voice slightly, irritated at her lack of care.

No answer.

"Stop the Bloody Car," he yelled, slamming his hand down onto the dashboard.

Camille kicked down hard on the brakes, steadying herself with both hands on the steering wheel and half hoping the rapid deceleration would lead to Richard's head impacting on the windscreen. The man was infuriating sometimes. He made her so angry, almost violently so.

They ground to a halt, the toxic silence between them punctuated by sharp, short breaths as both inhabitants let their racing heartbeats slow. Through the wing mirror, Camille watched the dust cloud begin to settle on the road behind them whilst Richard stared resolutely ahead. The sun had long disappeared behind the heavy foliage on this part of the island and darkness was falling fast. He was a little unwilling to relax his arms from their braced position but flexed his fingers and rolled his shoulders to release the tension, before reaching for a handkerchief to mop his clammy forehead.

After an age, Camille exhaled heavily, briefly dropping her head onto the steering wheel before quietly speaking. "That was extremely rude. You are a very rude man."

"Me?" Richard was incredulous. Of all the things he had imagined her saying, which admittedly was not a lot since he didn't have a clue how her brain worked most of the time, but of all the most likely starts to a conversation, this one was not it.

"Yes you. Tiny is….." Camille paused when she noticed Richards already raised brows climb higher still, correctly deducing his surprise at her high school friend's name. "Have you not even asked his name? How often have you been there - and you didn't even think to have a conversation with him? One where you didn't just lecture him?"

"Which question would you like me to answer first?" Richard retorted sarcastically. Pulse rate rising once more at her irrational mood and unfair comments.

"Neither, none of them. It doesn't matter." She countered, her body language suggesting otherwise. "The point is, is that you were rude. He is a kind man and let you into the building despite the risks to his livelihood and you left without even the basic pleasantries."

"Camille, I have absolutely no idea what you are going on about and you're making even less sense than you usually do. I was perfectly happy there, very content. Your friend has not had cause to think my dealings with him have been any less than polite and professional and had you not barged in and ordered me to leave as you did, they would have gone on being so."

Having imparted his speech successfully without the stumbling hesitations that had marred arguments throughout his life, Richard twisted round to look at her, her face half hidden by messy curls that she was not even attempting to tuck back. He was truly puzzled about the extent of her wrath and less than overjoyed to have been dragged away from the beautiful ice cold inside of the rink, to the humid, dusty heat of the vehicle. He had been particularly patient given how she had almost frog marched him out of there for no good reason.

"And why were you there anyway?"

"Seeing my friend." Camille snapped. "And now I appear to be your taxi driver."

"An uninvited one. I didn't need a lift back, I could have caught the bus."

"What, in the morning? They stop running before now you know."

"No, no they don't. I printed out a timetable and this one….." he rustled around in his suit pocket, pulling out a crumpled piece of paper and thrusting it across to show her. "Here, look. This one leaves at 6.50."

She brushed his hand away without a glance "Not since Anton ran off with his managers daughter it hasn't."

"What? Anton who?" Richard rubbed a hand across his eyes, struggling to keep up with the apparent change of subject.

"Anton who used to be the bus driver on that last run. Everyone in Honore heard about it."

"Except me."

Camille grunted disgustedly in reply. The man didn't live in the real world. Did he ever look up and see what was going on around him? He might be brilliant at solving crime, but at social interaction he was completely useless.

"Sleeping in that building would have been quite a treat actually." Richard interrupted her train of thought. "It's got to be the first time in two sweat sodden years that I have been anything approaching cool."

"How about thank you Camille."

"What? Thank you for almost physically dragging me away from the most wonderfully cold place on St Marie? Thank you for accusing me of being a rude man? Thank you for nearly killing me driving at this speed? Ok. Thank you Camille."

She shot daggers at him but didn't bother to reply, merely climbed out of the drivers seat, slamming the door behind her and started to pace up and down the dusty road muttering to herself.

Richard stayed where he was, watching her. They had been getting along much better recently, or he thought they had. She had favoured him with more smiles and less frowning, and had clicked her fingers at him only once in the last week to draw his attention and suggest they have a private chat about something or other she didn't agree with, although he had had to admit to himself that he was growing to like the peculiar little skip that his heart would give when she did that.

And he had been glad. The team worked well together, he felt more settled and despite the heat, sand and horrid biting insects, he no longer yearned for London with quite the same zeal.

But this, this gut wrenching sick feeling inside as he sat twisting his fingers together was not a pleasant feeling. Compounded by him having no idea what he had done wrong, or what to say to put it right.

Letting out a sigh Richard slipped out of his seat, leaving the door ajar and tentatively made his way across to where Camille appeared to be wearing a furrow into the ground. It was almost fully dark now and he really wanted to go home and have a cup of tea….and then to crawl into bed for a dreamless sleep with the covers pulled up over his head. No dark eyes taunting him with promises he didn't understand.

Camille's pace was slowing, probably the fading light rather than his approaching presence or her dissipating anger he thought, a rueful smile ghosting his lips. She looked up and caught the expression, the curiosity about his reasons for smiling yanking her out of her heated reflections.

"Could we perhaps head back now?" He was at a total loss what to say to her, the simple request all he could come up with.

"Fine." She breathed, turning lightly on the balls of her feet and pacing back to the Defender.

Richard had followed behind her, climbed back into the passenger side seat, adjusted his jacket and tie comfortably and had clicked his seatbelt firmly into its holder by the time he realised that the engine was simply not going to start, no matter how many times Camille tried to coax it, or plead with it, or swear at it. She thumped the steering wheel twice and then slowly turned her head to peer at him through the darkness.

"What now?"


	5. Chapter 5:Sparks

**Thanks for the ongoing support/reviews. This feels hard going at the moment. I have ideas in my head that are just not sounding right written down.**

**I did a bit of research on the roads/birdlife etc etc. Apparently, the roads on Guadaloupe are pretty decent so take this with a pinch of salt. Well it's not the most implausible part of my story after all!**

**Writing this and the next chapter suddenly reminded loosely me of another scene…a pivotal one from my favourite ever TV drama. So just out of curiosity – can anyone "name that program?" It was British made, and is not that recent. **

**Characters are not mine. **

**Ch5; Sparks**

Catherine stacked the last chair onto the table, sweeping stray crumbs onto the floor with one hand then pausing to stretch. She peered up and down the darkened street in front of her. She had expected Camille to return to the bar at some point, if only to grumble about her boss but it was well past closing time. Dwayne had finally left an hour ago along with one or two holidaymakers who they had struck up a conversation with during the evening and there was still no sign of her. She sighed; she would have to wait until morning to assuage her curiosity.

* * *

The silence in the Land Rover was deafening. Neither wanted to be there. Neither wanted to speak for fear of igniting yet another argument. Since the abrupt failure of the engine, there had been too many arguments and both were weary of them.

The first had begun when Richard had caustically observed how he could have been nearly home on his bus journey by now had Camille not intervened. It was true, that the coast road was a longer, slower route but at least it would have got him home. Camille hadn't needed to follow up her snort of derision with words to tell him how she felt about that.

The second; was also sparked by Richard when he offered to try starting the engine, just in case it had been flooded when Camille had tried. _An easy mistake to make_. In Camille's view, the only mistake she had made at that exact moment in time had been not to hit him.

Then Camille had climbed back out of the vehicle, lifting the bonnet and peering into the depths. Richard had offered to hold the torch he had found in the glove box and then, when it became apparent she didn't know what was wrong, to take over. Both offers were turned down less than politely.

Next, when they had given up and seated themselves back inside, was the argument over keeping the windows shut and internal lights switched off to prevent the biting insects which every day of his life, Richard tried so hard to avoid and which had a definite preference for his blood. He had had to relent on the windows stance when the air became so hot and muggy that he felt he was having trouble breathing and the sweat began to drip down into his eyes. Camille had pointed out that he would be a great deal more comfortable taking his jacket and tie off but this suggestion had up to now been ignored.

It was stalemate.

Camille's brain flitted from listening out for the nighttime sounds of the tropical forest around her to imagining how the evening could have gone had she only stayed in her seat at the bar, sharing a beer with her mother. From remembering her teenage years with Tiny and many other friends she had lost touch with over the years to idly calculating the odds of another driver knowing the maze of graveled roads as well as she and using this exact one this evening in time to prevent them spending the night here.

Richard intruded into each and every one of her wandering thoughts and attempts to calm herself.

She was quite sure that he would be able to identify the birdcall she had heard if only she was prepared to ask him. He would also; she had no doubts, be able to quote precise statistics of someone happening upon them. Despite her casual calculations, she really didn't want to know that. She had a feeling she wouldn't like the answer.

She also didn't want to explore too deeply the reason she had passed up the opportunity of a pleasant evening spent with her mother and anyone else who popped by, most likely Dwayne. Nor why she had shrugged off Tiny's offer of an arm to keep her warm back at the ice rink. She had never declined a friendly gesture like that in the past so what was different now?

_Richard_. The name ran like tickertape behind her eyelids.

She shifted uncomfortably, pulling a knee up against her chest and hugging it to her. Oh this was going to be a long night.

* * *

Richard let out a long breath, pulling at his tie to loosen it unobtrusively. Camille appeared to be lost in her thoughts, thank goodness. He didn't want to argue anymore, no matter how unjust she had been. The situation was not of his making but nor would that fact solve the issue of them being stuck here.

He glanced across surreptitiously through the near darkness; noting a long leg pulled up against her chest, chin resting upon her knee and curls cascading luxuriously down her back. Somewhere close by, in the heavy plant covered interior of the island, he could hear what he thought was a brown trembler which had been calling on and off for a while now. He would have to look it up when he got home, whenever that might be, he grumbled to himself.

Could he walk home more quickly than waiting for help he wondered. Neither of them had a phone signal and the absence of any other vehicles on the road would suggest they would be here longer than he wanted to be. The problem with walking wasn't the distance; walking long distances didn't phase him. But not knowing where they were did. At least twice in the last hour, he had attempted to mentally trace his steps back to the ice rink but the speed of Camille's aggressive driving meant he hadn't logged all the unsigned dirt tracks as they had sped past. His chances of success were he to set out alone was slim and to suggest anything to Camille about going together was an equally unpalatable option. Honestly, the blessed island was a maze. He might like puzzles but not in the dark with who knows what lurking about in the undergrowth. It didn't bear thinking about. No better to stay here and suffer Camille's silence. On a par with suffering her wrath he felt.

Almost as if she had heard his final thoughts, she broke the quiet. "I really need a drink."

Richards automatic retort to criticise her requirement for alcohol was luckily preempted by her qualification. "Water. Is the kit in the back?"

Richard shrugged. He knew that emergency essentials, a well stocked first aid kit, water, sugary snacks and a couple of blankets were required to be in the Land Rover at all times, and that Fidel was responsible for their inspection. During his first few months on the island he had re-checked everything; not knowing his junior officers well enough to trust them and knowing it was ultimately his responsibility. But as respect for his team had grown, he had relaxed somewhat and they had yet to let him down.

Camille shuffled around in her seat, dislodging the cushion she usually sat on when driving to the floor. Kneeling on the seat, she peered through into the darkness of the back seat, then adjusted and leant through between the two front seats.

Richard glanced across reflexively as her hip grazed his shoulder, the curve of her bottom a dark shape mere inches from his face. He gulped and turned back to stare resolutely through the front windscreen.

"Richard, turn on the light. I can't see if it's here," her muffled voice requested.

Richard hesitated. If he lifted his left arm to flick the switch on the roof then he would have to lean closer to her to do so, his right arm, and the minor contact his shoulder was making with her hip could only increase. Would it feel like a caress? What would she say, would she even notice?

"Richard?" Camille took the decision out of his hands, twisting her body around to glare at him. He could see the glinting in the whites of her eyes even through the night. The movement took her bottom in the opposite direction giving him the freedom to move unencumbered.

"Yes, right. Sorry." Reaching swiftly up to tap the switch he took a much needed breath and then almost choked on it when she immediately turned back around, her body once more pressing into his and the illumination revealing long slim legs disappearing beneath brief shorts. Up close they were flawless, and even more distracting than from his usual day-to-day viewpoint across the office.

"Got it!" Camille's triumphant cry startled him, his eyes catching hers briefly before he looked away. If she had seen him staring, she gave no indication of it as she scrambled back through into her seat clutching the bottle of water in her hand. Despite her lack of reaction, guilt flooded through him. He respected women; respected her. He didn't want her thinking less of him because he gawped like a randy teenager.

He listened to the twist of the plastic top as she unscrewed it slowly, forcing himself not to look around as she gulped the precious liquid down. Reaching upwards once more, the press of a finger plunged them back into the dark.

Oh this was going to be a long night.


	6. Chapter 6: Sleep

**Sorry about the wait guys. Cant seem to write my thoughts/ideas down properly!**

**This is my attempt to get the story moving again. Hope you like it. **

**Sleep**

Condensation dripped from the windscreen.

Camille leant forward to wipe it, the drips tickling as they ran between her fingers and down the back of her arm towards her elbow.

The moon had risen and she lifted her hand to watch the progress of one of the droplets, shimmering in the bluey light as it gently made its way over the boney prominence of her wrist.

Beyond her arm, the dark outline of her boss could be seen. She focused on his stubborn position, turned towards the window but obviously uncomfortable as he shifted and wriggled every now and then.

As her anger had waned, she had returned to thinking about and attempting to work out how far across the island they had come. Despite her excellent knowledge of the roads, she had been so cross, had been so concerned with trying to cause Richard distress that she had driven on autopilot. It was possible, or even probable that she would work out the way to walk if they set out on foot. The problem with that was leaving the Defender. However old and well used it was, they couldn't afford another on their current budget and petty crime, even in this isolated location, was a real enough threat for her to come to the conclusion that they ought to stay put till the morning at least.

She frowned at the passing thought that being found now, or walking out to get help would feel somehow disappointing.

Richard shifted again, grunting in discomfort.

"Richard." She attempted to catch his attention softly.

He stilled but made no move to look at her. She could almost visualise his ears pricking like a rabbits and the thought made her smile.

"Richard turn around," a soft request but firm and in a tone he must have recognised since he slowly shifted around in his seat to face her. Camille twisted to mirror his posture, gesturing with her hands as she spoke.

"You really can't spend the whole night buttoned up like that. At least take off your tie."

Richard appeared rooted to his seat. The near darkness hid his expression but she caught the shine of his eyes as they widened when her gesturing became a more purposeful movement towards him.

She fumbled a little with the knot, ignoring the tension in Richards body and cursing a little before it eased and she could pull it softly away. She smoothed it absently through her hands as she wondered what to do with it then Richard reached out a hand suddenly to claim it, fingertips brushing hers and both dropped the tie as if scalded.

A charged silence filled the car before Richard apologised gruffly and picked up the fallen tie, rolling it neatly and placing it in his jacket pocket. Camille took a breath and extended her hands towards him once more, halting when he pushed himself firmly back away from her and against the window.

"I was only going to…." She motioned in an exasperated manner towards his still done top button.

"Yes. Erm, well I can do that." He flicked the top button open easily with a thumb and forefinger and breathed out unsteadily.

"What are you afraid of?" The words were out of her mouth before she had chance to catch them and they hung in the air threateningly between them.

"Nothing." He sounded defensive.

"No, seriously. What are you afraid of?"

"Camille, not now." Less defensive, more obstinate now.

"Not now or not ever? Do you even know what you're afraid of?" She watched him shrug in the near darkness.

He was not going to say anymore on the subject, she knew him well enough to recognise when the barriers were going up but she felt an almost desperate need to keep pushing him. He frustrated her so much. Instead she released a terse breath and shifted noisily back around in her seat, crossing her arms resolutely and glaring out of the windscreen. There was nothing else to say. What did they have to say to one another?

* * *

Sleep came slowly. Each uncomfortable shuffle, each twist and turn of a limb and sigh or throat clearance disturbed the other. The bucket seats didn't help. Nor did the attempts of both to keep themselves entirely to their side of the vehicle, without so much as an elbow straying over the central area.

Richard had purposefully not checked his watch but as his eyelids finally began to droop felt sure light must soon be creeping up over the horizon. His body gave into a restless sleep filled with images of hundreds of pairs of long toned legs crossing and uncrossing themselves, of stocking garbed limbs parading down catwalks and beneath full skirts and petticoats whilst performing the can can in ice skates.

His first feeling on awaking to the grey half-light of dawn was an enormous relief the dreams were simply dreams, followed by a hazy glow. Despite the discomfort of the Defender, and on so little sleep he felt strangely comfortable.

Coming slowly to his senses he realised the wonderful warmth was emanating from his shoulder and chest, and as something gently prickled his face his senses went into overdrive. He opened an eye to peer down on dark curls, too close to focus upon. Camilles face was burrowed into him, both of her arms tucked around one of his, as if to keep him by her. For his part he was leaned well into the space between the two seats, and as he reached his free hand up to rub his tickly face he could feel the indents of her hair on his cheek. They had obviously been in that position a while.

He hesitated, caught between the horror of ending up in such a compromising position with the palpable feeling of pleasure rushing through his body. Despite being so wrong in every way, he was unable to deny to himself in those few moments between sleep and wake how right it felt.

Camille stirred, her face pressing into his neck and sending shivers up his spine.

He closed his eyes tightly as she came to, feeling her soft exhalations against his skin, hearing the short hiccup that followed as she became aware of her position nestled into him. She gently unwound her arms and shuffled herself upward in her seat, back away from him. His body mourned the loss of contact, another wave of tremors running through him.

Slowly, he unwound his shoulders, then rubbed his hands across his eyes. By the time he dared open them fully and look across at her, she was climbing out of the Land Rover.


End file.
